on of Adele, and for her incarceration in a nunnery,--a
theory which Miss Almira, with her natural tendency to romance,
industriously propagated.

Meantime the potions of the village doctor have little effect, and
before July is ended a serious illness has declared itself, and Adele is
confined to her chamber. Madame Arles is among the earliest who come
with eager inquiries, and begs to see the sufferer. But she is
confronted by the indefatigable spinster, who, cloaking her denial under
ceremonious form, declares that her state of nervous prostration will
not admit of it. Madame withdraws, sadly; but the visit and the claim
are repeated from time to time, until the stately civility of Miss Johns
arouses her suspicions.

"You deny me, Madame. You do wrong. I love Adele; she loves me. I know
that I could comfort her. You do not understand her nature. She was born
where the sky is soft and warm. You are all cold and harsh,--cold and
harsh in your religion. She has told me as much. I know how she suffers.
I wish I could carry her back to France with me. I pray you, let me see
her, good Madame!"

"It is quite impossible, I assure you," said the spinster, in her most
aggravating manner. "It would be quite against the wishes of my brother,
the Doctor, as well as of Mr. Maverick."

"Monsieur Maverick! _Mon Dieu_, Madame! He is no father to her; he
leaves her to die with strangers; he has no heart; I have better right:
I love her. I must see her!"

And with a passionate step,--those eyes of hers glaring in that strange
double way upon the amazed Miss Eliza,--she strides toward the door, as
if she would overcome all opposition. But before she has gone out, that
cruel pain has seized her, and she sinks upon a chair, quite prostrated,
and with hands clasped wildly over that burden of a heart.

"Too hard! too hard!" she murmurs, scarce above her breath.

The spinster is attentive, but is untouched. Her self-poise never
deserts her. And not then, or at any later period, did poor Madame Arles
succeed in overcoming the iron resolve of Miss Johns.

The good Doctor is greatly troubled by the report of Miss Eliza. Can it
be possible that Adele has given a confidence to this strange woman that
she has not given to them? Cold and harsh! Can Adele, indeed, have said
this? Has he not labored with a full heart? Has he not agonized in
prayer to draw in this wandering lamb to the fold? He has seen, indeed,
that the poor child has chafed